


Proficiency

by Uakari



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blindfolds, F/M, Oops, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uakari/pseuds/Uakari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bandages are pretty much just like a blindfold, right?  </p>
<p>Written for Levihan Week.  Prompt: Vision</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proficiency

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently I have a bandage kink. Send help before I develop a blood kink as well...

“You really ought to get a doctor to do this, you know.”

“You’re good enough for now,” Levi grumbles, “It’s two days old - it just needs cleaning.” He pauses, biting as his lip as Hanji grins wickedly down at him. She’s perched low, straddling his lap and mashing his hips into the sofa, but her extra ten centimeters of height give her all the appearance of a looming bird of prey. “You’re not doing anything else to it, are you?” he winces as she swoops in, armed with tweezers and boiled cloth.

“Believe it or not,” she says, grin vanishing, “I’m not actually a fan of eyes.” She sucks in a breath and draws her lips and cheeks into a tight gather around her nose as she focuses all of her attention on the mess tattering the orbits of his eyes. She dabs the cloth gingerly against his cheek and holds the tweezers to the corner of his eye. “Or at least not of touching them.”

“ _Don’t_ , then,” Levi hisses as the cold metal brushes against the white of his eye, “The field medic should have gotten the splinters.”

“There are a few more working their way out, it looks like,” Hanji mumbles between bitten lips, “They’ll get infected if I don’t pull them-”

“Just- _fuck!_ ” he tries not to wrench his head backward as the tweezers pinch wide of their target and take up bits of his conjunctiva instead. “Are those goggles useless?”

“That’s the last one,” she assures him, but pulls down his eyelids for a better look anyway, “You are so fucking lucky none of these hit your cornea.” She runs the blunt end of the tweezers along the pink of his eyelids – for what reason, he can’t imagine – and finally turns to set them on the coffee table behind her. “You really need to pay more attention what you’re shooting your hooks into. Rotten wood is always going to explode like this-”

“I don’t need a physics lesson,” he grumbles. He’s more than averagely aware of the shattering properties of structurally unsound planks when introduced to his grappling hooks, but he’s also more than averagely aware of the shattering properties of human bone when introduced to the business edge of titan teeth. Given a choice between an exploding perch or a severed femur, he’ll take his chances with the shitty wood any day. It’s not like he needs to dwell further on it, anyway. This little misadventure has already cost him a day of work and will probably steal another two before the deepest of the hundreds of shrapnel wounds slicing across his face – most (infuriatingly) no wider than the nail on his pinky finger – heal enough to chance wandering around these filthy inner-city barracks without bandages. Still, _his_ personal quarters might be clean enough to-

“Stop blinking and close your eyes,” Hanji interrupts his train of thought, “Unless you want salve in your eye.”

“I’ve had enough shit in my eyes between the splinters and your goddamned tweezers,” Levi sighs. He grabs her wrist as she moves in to smear some of the foul-smelling (“that’s how you know it’s good!”) stuff across his face. “Just leave it for now. I’m not going anywhere and I have a lot of paperwork to get through-”

“Don’t be stupid, Levi.” She wrests her hand away and comes at him from a higher angle. “Dust all you want, but it’ll still get infected.”

“Dammit!” The salve is leeching its way onto his eye ball and making every millimeter of its travels sting and burn like hellfire. “Can’t you watch where you’re putting that shit?”

“It would be a lot easier if you weren’t manhandling me,” Hanji sings. She smears an extra generous portion of the stuff around the rims of his eyes and leans back to admire her handiwork. “You know, Levi, if you washed your face regularly, you wouldn’t have to worry about this shiny forehead you’ve go-”

He catches the palm of his hand under her chin to shove her away. “Don’t even start with me. Most days you could fry an egg on your hair.” He leans back into the sofa dramatically, but drops his hold on her face after only a few seconds. “Do whatever. Least you washed today.”

“You’re just cranky,” Hanji chides him. She leans back to reach for the gauze she’s left on the coffee table and manages lose enough balance to warrant flapping and flailing her arms like she’s going to take off. Levi snatches her elbow just as he’s sure she’s about to topple ass over teakettle and yanks her back into the realm of the upright. Instead of thanking him, however, she decides to keep picking away at his wounded pride. “Nice catch, Lance Corporal Pouty!”

“Goddamn it-”

“You know, there’s an old rule – predates even Erwin.”

“Fuck off.”

She knocks her fist into her chest in an exaggerated salute. _“There’s no pouting in the Scouting Legion.”_

He wants to clap a hand over his eyes, or at least smash his face against the back of the sofa, but that would just drag him back to the starting line with a handful of shit-stinking salve as a bonus. “Would you hurry up and get that on so I don’t have to see your idiot face anymore?”

“You like my idiot face.”

“I like it less when it’s making idiot puns.”

“It wasn’t a pun, it was a rhyme.”

“Idiot rhymes then.”

“Pouty-scouty.”

“Shitty medic.”

“That doesn’t rhyme.”

“Put the goddamned gauze on.”

“Yes, yes,” Hanji laughs and presses a gauze pad against his left eye. She’s being kind – or at least less violent than she usually is – and manages to avoid reopening anything or indeed forcing any of the remaining shards deeper into his skin. “That feel okay?”

“Wonderful,” he drones, “Like fairies floating on snowflakes.”

“Ugh, Levi,” Hanji groans, “You are the poutiest princess of all.” She holds the pad in place with her thumb and loops a second bit of gauze around the crown of his head. “Still okay?” she asks, removing her thumb. When he nods an affirmative, she makes herself busy swaddling additional layers to hold the pad in place. She ties it off as tightly as she can without pulling at his hair and runs her fingers around the edges to test that it’s firmly held in place. Then she comes at him with the second pad she’s folded.

This is, undoubtedly, the worst part of Levi’s day. He’s spent the last half hour as a normal man with two functioning – albeit itching and stinging – eyes; a man who can carry out the duties assigned to him without need of an assistant to read his paperwork or – and this is the worst part – walk him to the fucking toilet. All that comes to an abrupt end as the second patch is fitted in place and Hanji starts her inevitable game of twenty questions. _Is this too tight? Does it feel good? Does it at least feel not horrible? Will I be court martialed if I slap you before it heals?_ He nods and grunts to appease her, but with each twist of gauze around his head he feels a bit more of his pride slip away.

_It really had been a stupid move, shooting his hook into that rotted board. There had been plenty of other tangible supports around him, hadn’t there? At least one. Probably three. He needs to be quicker, more alert. If only-_

“Finished!” Hanji declares and leans back in his lap, “Does it-”

“It’s fine,” Levi cuts her off and snatches her hand as he feels it whisper off the side of his head, “Really. It’s fine.”

“Levi~” she sing songs, and it takes everything he has to not shove her out of his lap.

“Go away,” he says instead and tosses her hand away.

“I’m just trying to make you feel better,” she says earnestly.

“You’re doing a terrible job,” he tells her, and immediately feels like an ass. He sighs heavily and squeezes her hip. “Please don’t sing.”

“Noted, sir!” she barks, and there is a sudden slap inches from his face as her fist pounds into her chest.

“Hanji-”

“Is there anything else sir will be requiring, sir?” Another slap.

“Dammit-”

“Would it help if I showed you my tits, sir?”

“That’s not funny, you shitty-”

“One does not need eyes to see, sir! For instance!” she grabs his wrist and pulls it toward her, slipping it easily between the buttons of her shirt and curling her fingers around his own to ensure maximum groping. “Does this help, sir?”

“Drop the sir crap, it’s creepy as hell,” Levi insists. He has to admit, the “view,” as it were, is not half bad. He shuffles his palm along the curve of her breast and savors the sensation of her nipple rising to a peak beneath it.

“You know, we never did get around to trying out a blindfold,” she murmurs.

He’s acutely aware of the heat rising in his cheeks at the suggestion. “No,” he swallows, “We didn’t. Are you suggesting…?”

“Well I’m not going to beg for it.”

Levi snorts at this and digs his fingers into her hips. They’re taut and maybe a bit bonier than he might like, but the way they slide across his thighs in response is perfect, as is the way her arm predictably slips around to cradle his neck. He lets her lean in close, until her breath tickles across what little stubble he’s wearing, before making his move. While she’s leering – no doubt mouth hanging open and waiting to be plundered – he deftly snatches the glasses from her face and dangles them over the back of the sofa.

“Levi!” she growls, “Give those back – I can’t see!”

“Would it help if I showed you my dick?” he teases.

“Maybe!” she says, far too enthusiastically to be genuine. “Can we at least put my glasses on the table, though? One of us has to be able to navigate out of here.”

Levi laughs through his teeth, but brings the glasses back within her reach. She plucks them out of his hand without a word and moves to set them on the coffee table behind her. Levi waits until she’s settled back in to grope at her face.

“Hey!” she swats his hand away, “I’m not the cheater.”

“Should have worn your goggles.”

“I’ll remember to next time,” she huffs, but her fingers are already unraveling his cravat and working their way, one by one, down his button row. Her fingers are warm and nimble as they dip below the waist of his trousers to get at the fastenings; his are neither as he fumbles blindly with the chest strap of her 3D maneuver gear. His waistline finally freed, she returns her attention to his shirt, spreading the lapels wide and dragging the heel of her palms across his pectorals. He gives up on the chest strap with a huff and instead fidgets with her blouse buttons until she notices. She does – eventually, once she’s gotten her fill of tangling her fingers through the chest hair she so loves to play with – and promptly redirects his hands lower, to where her shirt has come untucked from her trousers, and slips them up under the hem. The pads of his thumbs press into the crease of her abdominal muscles and he is quickly reminded that he doesn’t actually need his eyes to find his way around here. All he _needs_ to do is to gently scrape his fingernails against the side of her waist and-

“AH! Damn it Levi – that _tickles!_ ” The top half of her gear – suspenders, belts, and all – comes crashing down on either side of him with an angry jangle. She grabs his wrists, digs what remains of her fingernails in, tries to pull away, but the better leverage here is his. He steeles his forearms to the sudden onslaught and manages to coax nearly an entire mambo out of her before she manages the same with her abdominals. Her forehead crashes down against his with a _thwack_ and sends stray hairs scattering across and tickling up his nose. “Dirty bastard,” she breathes through gritted teeth.

He tilts his face backward, intending to bite at her nose, but getting a mouthful of chin instead. “You fafe wike foap,” he mumbles, not bothering to let go.

“Does that turn you on?” she laughs, wrestling her chin free. She licks a fat, clumsy line up from his lip, across his nostril, and up to the tip of his nose. “Oh god,” she sputters, sounding for all the world like she’s choking on her own tongue, “You taste like that salve.”

“You’re not going to throw up, are you?” he recoils in horror.

Instead of answering, she grips the sides of his head with both hands and pulls him close enough that he can smell the foul stuff on her breath. He shrinks back into the sofa as far as he can, but there’s nowhere he can go in this position that she can’t follow, and it’s really only a matter of seconds before she’s crashing down on him again, this time with an obnoxiously active tongue. She catches him between the ribs with a well-placed thumb, and the game is over: his mouth is open, her tongue is sliding home, and sweet merciful _fuck_ there’s the salve taste. It’s actually…kind of minty, and tastes a lot better than it smells. He sucks hard on her tongue, hoping it might unbalance her enough that he can regain the upper hand, but only succeeds in encouraging her to squirm in his lap, which in turn unbalances _him_ enough to let slip a shuddering groan. That’s all she needs; fingers twist tighter into his hair, hips grind into his crotch, and suddenly he no longer cares that he’s losing this particular battle for dominance.

What started as a sloppy kiss quickly descends into a fevered fit of teeth and tongues and open mouthed panting. His cock twitches with excitement as his fingertips race along her spine, flitting between vertebrae and scraping between shoulder blades. Her blouse’s fabric pulls against his hands as she tries to shirk her way out of it – eventually she succeeds and it floats away, lost to the blackness. He traces the dips and curves by memory, and the jagged lines left behind by years of cuts and tears rise up like cairns to mark the way. Past the pucker on her left shoulder where she impaled herself on a tree branch months earlier, across the slash below her collar bone where she took the wrong end of a grappling hook in basic training. The skin of her abdomen clings to the palms of his hands as he drags them down, down until they skitter to a halt at the lower half of her blasted harness.

“Fucking stupid piece of- _gah!_ ” he grumbles after futzing with the leather belt skirting for far longer than necessary and still failing to gain any ground.

“It’s all regulation, you know,” Hanji snorts, “Just like your own.”

“Mine doesn’t have shit from a hundred titan assholes stuck to the metalwork-”

“Yours lacks character,” she huffs. “Here,” she shoves his hands down to the belts at her thighs, which are mercifully more straightforward to manage, “I can handle the titan shit.”

He grunts into her chest as the belts slip free of their buckles and jingle as they fall against her thighs. The rest of the harness falls in due order, along with the damnable leather skirting. He shirks it to the floor and slides a hand down her belly, dragging the waist of her trousers down with it. Her hips lift and knees jerk and twist into his legs as she attempts to shuffle free of the material; he waits until she’s decided to not topple the both of them off the couch before yanking the rest of it down. She snorts in response and rises up on her knees.

He slides a finger into her folds. She’s hot and wet already, although he’s willing to concede that they _have_ spent an inordinate amount of time dicking around with harnesses and clothing and other stupidity. He wiggles in deeper, presses against her clit. Her hips buck in response and a hard break of air rushes from her lungs…but it ends in chuckling where he’s been hoping for a moan.

“I think,” she breathes as he works his finger back and forth, “The point of the blindfold is supposed to be that I touch _you – fuck!_ – and you’re left wondering where I’ll strike ne- _oh god_ …” Her voice gurgles out as he slips a finger inside her, driving the pad of it firmly against her front wall and stroking at a tempo he hopes is agonizingly slow.

“That’s why I took your glasses,” he says simply. Maybe he can’t work, but he surely can _fuck_ and goddamn it, he’s not about to lay around like some ragdoll for her entertainment. In fact, he’d happily throw her down on the couch and dive face-first into her if he didn’t think she’d whine and moan about her perfect bandaging job being ruined. Instead, he speeds up his fingers, relishing the accompanying sting as she digs her fingers into his shoulders and nearly smothers his face into her chest.

He works her hard and fast – mostly to drive the point home that he _can_ : he knows all the parts to hit and the quickest ways to set her off. His hand is soaked well before he slips another finger inside her and any words she might have been mumbling have long since drawn themselves out into nonsense syllables. He slides his free hand to the small of her back, just to feel it tremble. He can tell she’s close now by the way she clenches and sucks at his fingers and the hammering of her pulse against his thumb. He squeezes, flicks, and then she’s shouting in his ear, howling an obscene curse that he doesn’t even care is probably echoing down the hallway.

“Show off,” she rasps.

“Are you complaining?”

“Never.”

“That’s good,” he grins and nuzzles between her breasts. “What week are we on?”

“Eh?”

“Is it… _you know_.”

“Are you asking whether I am going to put your dick in my mouth?”

_“Either way.”_

“Oh, right. That way,” Hanji laughs, still post-orgasm stupid, “Whatever you want to do, this week should be safe – but I’m going to need a hand getting the rest of this,” she pauses to giggle and smack knee buckles against his torso, “Off.” 

She makes a noise of complaint when he pulls his fingers free and a louder one still when he forces her off his lap and onto the couch. He’s too busy tearing at the remainder of her trousers and harness and boots to care, however, and focuses only on the satisfying sound they make as they rattle against the wooden floor. He pulls his knees up beneath him with some difficulty – his own trousers are still hanging open and while he might not be wearing the blasted harness today, his boots are squealing against the leather of the couch (which he’d really rather not have them on to begin with, but this is not the time to care openly) and catching and digging and _oh fuck it he’s just going to pull them off and toss them over his shoulders-_

“Is that the sound of excitement I hear?” Hanji asks as they hit the floor with a bang.

“Your feet stink,” he informs her bluntly.

“Is that the smell of excitement?” she taunts.

He restrains himself (barely) from making a crude remark about exciting smells and hauls her back onto his lap. She’s worked his cock free of his trousers in no time at all and is busily giving it the normal thrice over inspection with the tips of her fingers.

“Bean is very sturdy today,” she says with a laugh.

“He won’t be for long if you keep calling him that,” Levi hisses through his teeth. He’s always impressed by her ability to simultaneously provoke and deflate his erection, but at the moment he wishes she would save it to practice on somebody else.

“Oh calm down, darling, I only name my favorite things.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or horrified,” he grumbles, but she’s already climbing up over him, enveloping the head of his cock in her heat. She slides down with a satisfied hum, and the race is on. Or at least, he would very much like it to be. Instead, she’s lost in her own little world, still basking in the warm glow of orgasm, and seemingly intent on giving him the slow ride – the insanely slow ride one might expect from a lame pony at a traveling fair. “Oi,” he gropes at her ass, trying to push her hips into something resembling a rhythm. 

“The blindfold is wasted on you,” she laughs.

“It’s hardly a blindfold,” he reminds her. His other hand finds her hip as well and guides her into a more workable speed. She obliges with only minimal complaint and, maybe just to prove her point, takes the opportunity to lick and suck at his neck. The scrape of her teeth sends shivers down his spine; maybe she has a point after all. He ought to have taken better advantage of it earlier, though, as he can already feel his thighs tightening and his balls pulling up close to his abdomen. He relaxes into the couch, allows her to have her way as she pleases. She nibbles at his earlobe and suddenly there it is: the warmness coils up from his balls and surges along his cock. He barely has the presence of mind to lift her up and off before it comes crashing over him-

“You didn’t have to do that,” she chides him as he’s catching his breath a moment later, “I don’t actually think I’ve menstruated in about four months.”

“That can’t be healthy,” he grumbles. He sighs loudly and turns his cheek into the cool leather, “Eat more, dumbass.”

“Sir, yes sir!” She drops some material – her shirt, probably, _goddamn it_ \- onto his lap and squeezes him, snickering at this hissing this produces.

“Don’t start that again.”

“Sure, sure,” she says breezily, then pauses, “Hey, Levi?”

“What.” Levi yawns and stretches and burrows deeper into the sofa. He’d really like nothing better than to doze right off for the rest of the afternoon.

“I think you were actually more proficient without your eyesight.”

“Piss off,” he groans, but wraps an arm affectionately around her shoulders and pulls her in close, “Or stay here, you’re warm.” And she smells like soap, which is a once-a-week miracle. He nuzzles in close and hopes, vaguely as he drifts off, that he’s remembered to lock the door.


End file.
